Another Man's Shoes
by GrandEclectus
Summary: Early on in their association, Fawkes and Hobbes are not on speaking terms. The Official is beside himself with frustration, having thoughts of violence against his agents. The boys are sent on what is to be their final mission together. But things have a


Title: Another Man's Shoes  
  
Fandom: Invisible Man (2000)  
  
Rating: PG-13. Mostly Humor, Some angst  
  
Completed: May 2003            Length: Aprox. 11,000 words   
  
Author: Betsy Manning (aka AnitaLife, because honest to god, I really need a life!)  
  
E-me:  betsybird27@hotmail.com    
  
Feedback: Sure.  
  
Disclaimers: The Invisible Man is the property of Stu Segall Productions and USA Cable Entertainment. Any resemblance to anything is strictly coincidental.  
  
Archive: Sure; just let me know so I can give you the latest version.  
  
Synopsis: Early on in their association, Fawkes and Hobbes are not on speaking terms. The Official is beside himself with frustration, having thoughts of violence against his agents. The boys are sent on what is to be their final mission together. But things have a way of changing when you least expect it.  
  
============================   
  
   
  
Another Man's Shoes  
  
By Betsy Manning  
  
   
  
   
  
Old wisdom tells us "Walk a mile in another man's shoes before you pass judgment." Yeah, well I'd like to see some one try to be me for a day. Maybe, just maybe, I could get that one person off my back.  
  
   
  
   
  
The large, older man entered the Keep and wearily plopped himself into the exam chair. He breathed heavily as he softly muttered to himself.  
  
   
  
The Keeper was torn from her bench work despite the breakthrough she had been laboring over. Obviously, The Official was a man who was suffering a great deal. Was it his heart, blood pressure or both?   
  
   
  
She automatically grabbed her equipment with the proficiency and detachment of a practiced Emergency Room doctor, pushing her emotions out of the way so that she could proceed.   
  
   
  
"No, Doctor. That will not be necessary. I'm not sick…yet." The Official stated.  
  
   
  
"Just routine." She said as she put the blood pressure cuff on his arm and began pumping the bulb. "What seems to be the trouble, Sir?"  
  
   
  
"I simply need to know which one I should kill first."  
  
   
  
"Oh, I see." She said as she let the air hiss out of the cuff. "Difficult choice."   
  
   
  
"Yes! Perhaps the most difficult of my career. The first one to go would enjoy seeing the other one suffer and die, and believe me, my goal is not to give pleasure."  
  
   
  
"Then allow me to suggest you kill them separately." She offered as she removed the cuff. "One forty-four over ninety-five. You will have to mind that."   
  
   
  
"I pride myself on my ability to assign the right people to one another. How could I have been so completely wrong about Hobbes and Fawkes?"  
  
   
  
"Neither one possesses the most predictable psychological qualities and the Gland and Darien Fawkes situation presents extenuating circumstances. Perhaps their mercurial natures clouded your otherwise impeccable judgment." Claire's voice belied her own exasperation with the battling duo. She had taken to refusing their requests. For the past two weeks she had been called upon to convey their banter, even when they were standing next to one another. She had to field a continuous "Doctor, please tell my partner that it's time to leave." "Keeper, tell Shorty to take a pill." "Keeper, Doctor, Keeper, Doctor…"  
  
   
  
"Yes. I must isolate them. Surprise must be my modus operandi. I wouldn't want the first moron's slow and painful death to tip off the other idiot and allow for escape."  
  
   
  
"You will have to worry about body disposal." She wryly observed putting her hands into the pockets of her blue lab coat.  
  
   
  
"I can deal with that." He whispered in conspiratorial tones. "My roses can use the fertilizer."  
  
   
  
"Well then, it sounds as if you've got a plan of action."  
  
   
  
"Doctor, I have lived through perhaps the most tumultuous time in the history of human kind. I have commanded men in battle in the most brutal wars this planet has ever seen. I have witnessed the world on the brink of mass destruction. The assassination of a beloved President. The Cold War. The Cuban Missile Crisis. Disco. Yet these two…" He paused looking for the right word as he clenched his fists in fury and frustration "…knuckleheads are about to bring me to my knees."  
  
   
  
"This has been a trying time, Sir. We've all been caught in the middle." She said as her breath blew flaxen hair off her pretty face.  
  
   
  
"It just isn't fair! I've served my country well. I'm a good family man. What have I done to deserve the Lockhorns?"  
  
   
  
"I'll assist with the disposal project in any way I can. Right now, you need rest. Your blood pressure is unacceptable." She handed him some medication which he swallowed instantly with no water.  
  
   
  
"Can't rest. I can't take a break right now." He huffed. "An urgent case has just come in from the highest level and now I have to give those two aahs…two donkeys a mission briefing."   
  
   
  
"Do you need me in your office again?"  
  
   
  
"Yes, I suppose." He sighed. "Since they refuse to speak to one another and Eberts alone can't handle their rapid fire demands, your presence may be required.  
  
   
  
"I don't understand it." The Official continued his diatribe. "I thought they liked each other, or at least had found a way to work together."  
  
   
  
"It seemed so. I thought Agent Hobbes was making some progress with Fawkes." The Keeper offered.  
  
   
  
"I think he honestly tried but once a shot was fired, he shot back, well, sometimes he's the worst one. At this point, I'm not even sure if they remember why they are at odds and I don't know if they can ever sort it out. Who will extend the first olive branch when they're both living in the Petrified Forest?"  
  
   
  
"Give it time." She said with false hope. "They will have to learn to get along or they'll make interesting garden decor."  
  
   
  
"Yes! Good idea! I like that one. Hobbes can be a lawn jockey and Fawkes will make a rather convincing scarecrow. I won't even have to change his clothes and hair. No court in the land would convict me."  
  
   
  
"Well, that's the spirit. Happy thoughts." She smiled sardonically. "I'll be along in a few minutes. I'm expecting Fawkes for his shot."  
  
   
  
"Lethal Injection, I hope. The Gland be damned!"  
  
   
  
"Maybe I can try to talk reason to him. Again." She rolled her eyes.  
  
   
  
"Reason?" he snorted. "We've tried reason. If they listened to reason, would they be behaving this way? Maybe I'll simply smash their heads together until they see reason! I'll just smash until they both get the message. I'll…"  
  
   
  
Just then a tall scarecrow entered the Keep, his sudden presence halting the beleaguered Official mid-rant. He was the picture of defiance as he strutted into the room. The very act of showing up for Counteragent was done with insolence.  
  
   
  
"Good morning Mr. Fawkes. How's the shoulder?" The Official thought he might as well be the one who lobbed the first round of the day. It might or might not give him a slight psychological advantage, but it did make him feel a little better.  
  
   
  
Darien was only slightly puzzled at seeing his new boss in the chair where he received those cursed injections.   
  
   
  
"My shoulder is just fine." Darien replied, instantly catching the drift of the Official's parry. "I didn't put the chip there. You people did."   
  
   
  
Darien Fawkes was a strange combination of ingredients that made up a Peter Pan Complex stew. The boyish innocence of his face masked his criminal past. He looked as if he could have been leading a Scout troop and tending the greenest grass in the cul-de-sac. Instead, only a few months earlier, he had been picking pockets, running scams and cracking safes; that was indeed his former profession. His smile and rakish manor had caught many a hapless mark off guard. He could charm the bloomers off the Lutheran minister's wife yet hold his own in the recreational area at the State Penitentiary among even the most hardened criminals.   
  
   
  
He exuded complete hatred of his situation. Even his sloppy attire and Buckwheat hairstyle seemed to say "Screw you all". He loathed the Gland and detested these Agency people but he did not have a choice but to work for them. He gave up his right to choose a few months ago when he agreed to be his big brother's guinea pig for his Nobel bid. His brother was gone, but not without leaving him with the burden of his work, the twisted fruit of his labor. As a result, the Agency had Darien in their thrall. He was a slave to their whims due to the dire need for Counteragent that the Invisibility Gland had created in his body. If they commanded him, he had to obey, but no one said he had to like it and no one could earn his respect if they held him in virtual shackles.  
  
   
  
To make matters worst, they had assigned their best and brightest to keep in him line, to watch him when they could not. He resented Agent Robert A. Hobbes with a fiery passion unequaled by the hatred toward the situation in which he found himself. He could hear the little man padding down the hallway, dogging his heels. Hobbes was the ultimate bad penny; he would always turn up. Even with Darien's considerable skills at evading capture, he had met his match in a man who could not be shaken.  
  
   
  
"No wonder I hate spiders. I'm always caught in a web or two." Darien mused bitterly to himself.  
  
   
  
Hobbes entered the room and cast daggers at Fawkes with his eyes. He retreated to one corner of the room, crossed his arms and smugly watched the taller man.   
  
   
  
"Doctor, would you kindly inform my 'partner' that he can run but he can not hide." Hobbes tossed off. Secretly the Official was happy that he himself had struck first.  
  
   
  
"Tell him yourself." Was her response, which came out more rancorous than she had intended.  
  
   
  
"Keeper, you can tell that little twerp…" Darien began.  
  
   
  
"Darien, I'm not telling either one of you anything unless I'm so ordered by my superior. Unless that condition has been met, you can both…both…swivel on it."  
  
   
  
The trio took a moment to absorb the shock of the Keeper's outburst and stared in her direction. Clearly she had been pushed to her limit.  
  
   
  
The Official rose up from the chair and motioned for Darien to take his place.  
  
   
  
"Hobbes and Fawkes, after this I'll expect you in my office. There is a mission that you both must complete."  
  
   
  
"Yes, Sir." Hobbes acknowledged.  
  
   
  
"Great." Fawkes said sarcastically. "That's just great."  
  
   
  
Hobbes and Fawkes continued exchanging dirty looks. No filthy faced school yard adversaries could rival their acrimony.  
  
===================  
  
An Extreme Reaction  
  
   
  
Hobbes and Fawkes sat in their respective chairs like two negatively charged magnets. Had things invisible been seen, glowing red hot repelling waves would have been radiating between them like bands of molten steel. As it was, their mutual repulsion was palpable to everyone in the room.   
  
   
  
Claire sat near the window, nursing a splitting headache. Eberts stood behind The Official, faithful as always, on his boss' right.  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen." The Official began. "This will be your last mission together. I regret that the timing once again forces you to work closely, as it is obvious that is most difficult for you both. I ask you to put aside your differences for the duration of this important work. Your country needs you both in this urgent matter."  
  
   
  
"And you're so under-funded, you don't have another qualified Agent to baby sit the Invisible Man." Fawkes mouthed off.  
  
   
  
"At the completion of this mission, Hobbes will be reassigned."  
  
   
  
"Reassigned sir?" Hobbes asked weakly.  
  
   
  
"Good riddance." Fawkes said.  
  
   
  
Despite himself, Fawkes felt a twinge of guilt; conscience was his Achilles heel. "Reassigned" could have been a euphemism for any number of fates, but something told Fawkes that it meant being let go—relieved of active duty, FIRED. By being difficult, no—impossible to work with, Fawkes was dooming Hobbes to possible unemployment. What else could they do with him? His options were limited. Perhaps he would be relegated to a desk job, but how long would this high strung, high energy, intelligent man last as a paper pusher?  
  
   
  
"If…if…if I may, Sir," Hobbes began, "I want to know that I will extend my utmost efforts to serve my country in this matter, sir."  
  
   
  
"I know you will, Agent Hobbes." The Official said, the wear of the last couple of weeks showing in his eyes.  
  
   
  
Darien was making kissing noises.  
  
   
  
"Have you anything to add, Mr. Fawkes?"  
  
   
  
"Nope," was his flip answer. "Well, yeah. Maybe you could get me a partner that isn't crazy, if that's not too much to ask."  
  
   
  
"Eberts," Hobbes began. "Would you communicate to Mr. Fawkes that his attitudinal problems are not contributing to this briefing."  
  
   
  
Eberts opened his mouth, but was quickly interrupted by Fawkes.  
  
   
  
"Eberts would you tell this little kiss up to get bent?"  
  
   
  
Eberts once again tried to speak only to be quelched by The Official's raised hand.  
  
   
  
"I have had enough of this! If you wish to convey messages to your partner, even if it's to trade your childish barbs, then you MUST speak to one another."  
  
   
  
"Me? Childish? Sir, I wasn't being childish." Hobbes self-defense dropped into a pool of chaos.  
  
   
  
"There's no talking to this man." Fawkes objected. "He won't get off my back for even a second."  
  
   
  
"I wasn't childish." Hobbes pouted.  
  
   
  
"He's insane! He sees guns behind every bush and enemy spies under every rock. He always thinks he's being watched. He thinks the earth worms are out to get him."  
  
   
  
"This is counter-productive, gentleman," interjected Eberts.  
  
   
  
"I was simply attempting to point out that Mr. Fawkes is hampering this mission," stated Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"The truth is he's the one doing the watching. It's pathetic pre-emptive paranoia." Fawkes spouted. "He's afraid of his own shadow."  
  
   
  
"Sir, Bobby Hobbes is afraid of nothing."  
  
   
  
"He sprays Lysol when I'm trying to eat my lunch." Fawkes shouted.  
  
   
  
"Do you have any idea how many germs there are in every square inch of your skin?" Hobbes asked them.  
  
   
  
"The surface of the skin bears anywhere from 300 to several million bacteria per square centimeter depending on what area of the body to which you are referring." The Doctor told them.  
  
   
  
That stopped them all in mid-yelp.  
  
   
  
"Yeah. Right. That's a lot of germs!" Hobbes exclaimed.  
  
   
  
"The bacteria on the outer dermis live in symbiosis with the skin; they are needed and tolerated," she continued.  
  
   
  
"Do you know what it's like to hang out with Rain Man all day and night?" Fawkes asked.  
  
   
  
"Sir, if I may make a suggestion…" Claire attempted to burst into the fray.  
  
   
  
"Would some one tell Fawkes that I'm not the Rain Man? Rain Man was autistic. I'm not autistic." Hobbes informed them.  
  
   
  
"This is absolutely puerile!" Claire jumped in. "You are two grown men behaving like children!"  
  
   
  
"I must concur with the Doctor," stated Eberts.  
  
   
  
"Who asked you, Eee-berts? Sir, I only want to serve my country. Eberts, would you tell Fawkes that I'm just doing my job!"  
  
   
  
Without warning, The Official pulled a 44 Magnum from his desk and pointed it decidedly at Fawkes. Before anyone else had registered this impossible situation, Hobbes had pushed Claire down to the floor and stood in front of his ex-con partner.  
  
   
  
"Sir, I think there are better ways to resolve this situation." Hobbes said in a negotiating tone.  
  
   
  
BANG.   
  
   
  
A shot smashed a framed fish at the other side of the room. The blast sent glass shards and drywall in all directions and left a crater where the picture once hung. The report cast a dumbfounded silence in the room and left the agency employees, reluctant and otherwise in a speechless, open-mouthed daze. Several agents rushed into the room, ready for action and wondering how security had been breached.   
  
   
  
Eberts had balled up in a corner, knocking a flag pole down with a loud smack, startling them all again.  
  
   
  
"Finally!" The Official said smugly. "I have the last word." His finger was still twitching on the impressive weapon.  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen, all is well." The Official told the puzzled agents as he waved them off. "Resume your duties."  
  
   
  
"Eberts, my nephew repairs drywall. This is his number. Get three quotes from other contractors.  
  
   
  
"Now, if you would please, Eberts, get off the floor and hand these two 'gentlemen' their files. I would like to finish this briefing today."  
  
   
  
The meeting resumed and went off without further need of firepower.  
  
   
  
=========================   
  
OK. Don't think for a minute that Hobbes' little move was lost on me. I'm well aware that little schmuck stood between me and possible oblivion but I can't figure out why he did that. I just know I've got to get through one more mission with him and then I'll see who else they'll aim at me.   
  
   
  
How hard could it be?  
  
   
  
========================   
  
The Ultimate Thief  
  
   
  
Fawkes and Hobbes sat as far from one another as the front seat of the van would allow. They had agreed to speak to one another about the mission—and nothing else but the mission—and Hobbes at least had agreed not to volley any more remarks in Fawkes' direction. Fawkes may have consented to this, but his mumbles in the office were difficult to discern. A standoff was formed and a graveyard-like silence ensued between them, which was actually an improvement on previous conditions.  
  
   
  
Fawkes sighed as they parked the van near the modern office mega-tower complex that housed Hudgecodyne Industries and Hobbes considered breaking the ice, but held back. He hoped that Fawkes knew the plan as well as he did. In any case, Hobbes liked to review mission parameters before proceeding.   
  
   
  
They were about to breach the defenses of the world's largest cutting edge technology and bio-engineering empire. When storming the castle of any large, deadly dragon and attempting to steal its most precious treasure, it was customary that partners go over the plan before sallying forth into unknown danger.  
  
   
  
This was not to be. Did that punk kid know what he was really getting himself into? Probably not.  
  
   
  
Wordlessly, the two headed for the side of the van and set up Hobbes' contraptions. Fawkes donned the equipment that would keep him in touch with Hobbes. In his heart, Hobbes wished the taller man a silent good luck. They managed to test the head set to make sure they could communicate. The first words they had spoken to one another in a long time were merely, "Test. Test. Test."  
  
   
  
Then Fawkes vanished into the night without another word.  
  
   
  
Hobbes hated this. For all their rancorous bickering, Fawkes was still his partner, at least for the moment, and it was his mandate to watch out for him. Had Fawkes been a seasoned pro, Hobbes might have felt more at ease with the situation, but as it was, Fawkes was a greenhorn, snot-nose punk whose criminal exploits were less than stellar. He thought he knew everything but he didn't know what he didn't know.  
  
   
  
Fawkes congratulated himself on how easy it was to break through the maximum security defenses to arrive at the infamous 27th floor of Poindexter Tower One. He did a little dance in front of the guard desk. He delighted in jumping up and down in front of the motion detectors.   
  
   
  
"Yeah! Stop and smell the roses, they say." He thought gleefully.  
  
   
  
Lasers trips were child's play and he was too cold to set off their heat detecting alarms. He knew how to get around weight detectors in the carpeting. Hudgecodyne had it all and he, Darien Fawkes, circumvented it all as if it were non-existent.   
  
=================  
  
   
  
"Look at this! I really could be the ultimate thief—the greatest that ever lived." He thought with great satisfaction. "I could steal anything I wanted, any time I wanted, from anywhere and anyone. Yeah, Kevin, great gift for your pilferering baby brother. If I could get a hold of Counteragent, I'd be a legend. Oh, Liz, honey, if you could see me now, baby!  
  
   
  
OK. That was dumb. She couldn't see me now; that's the point."  
  
===========   
  
   
  
"Fawkes!" Hobbes voice broke Darien's reverie. "Come in, Fawkes. Report…please."  
  
   
  
Fawkes hackled with the sound of his partner's voice, but there was no point in fussing now.  
  
   
  
"I'm in. Past their defenses. Past the guards. A few more guards on this floor—not a problem."  
  
   
  
"Acknowledged. Will call at regular intervals." Hobbes said simply.  
  
   
  
What a pain! Regular intervals. Whatever. Just let this be over.  
  
   
  
"Can you disable defenses?" Hobbes asked.  
  
   
  
"Negative." Not without lighting up the building like a Christmas tree, Fawkes thought but he did not feel like chatting.  
  
   
  
Darien wended his way down the corridor toward his target.  
  
   
  
"Here's where I prove how good I really am." Fawkes thought smugly, as he approached the biometric lock. Some how the Agency had provided him with what he needed. He pulled a glove, a jiggly white orb and a tape player from his pockets.  
  
   
  
"Fawkes. Report, please." Hobbes' voice broke Fawkes' concentration.  
  
   
  
"Hobbes, would you give it a rest?" Fawkes whispered quickly. "How about *I* check in with *you* at regular intervals, instead of you pestering me, huh?"  
  
   
  
"Identify," came the voice from the door.  
  
   
  
Fawkes donned the special glove and held it in place.  
  
   
  
"Finger print of Janice Spenser. Accepted." said the pleasant female voice.  
  
   
  
One down. Two to go. Fawkes licked his lips.  
  
   
  
"Retinal Scan of Janice Spenser. Accepted. Please speak your name."  
  
   
  
Two down. One to go. Almost there.  
  
   
  
"Janice Spenser." said the voice from the digital player that Fawkes had at the ready.   
  
   
  
"Indistinguishable from a human voice," The Keeper had promised him.  
  
   
  
The door seemed to hesitate. Darien gulped and realized that under the Quicksilver, he had begun to feel warmth as if he could sweat. He was well into the thrill of what he was doing. This was the ultimate breaking and entering job he had ever pulled, and his adrenaline was on maximum.  
  
   
  
"Please restate verbal identification," said the door voice.  
  
   
  
Fawkes repeated the procedure, which he had practiced a number of times with The Keeper.   
  
   
  
He knew about the concept of bio-Ident type security systems, but it was cutting edge, big league stuff and he was not able to fool with it before he got sent up a couple of times.   
  
   
  
 =================  
  
   
  
Indecent Proposal  
  
   
  
When The Keeper reviewed the use of each item, Fawkes told her that she would make a great partner in crime. She was not impressed by Darien's suggestions—any of them. She tried to ignore his remarks and methodically showed him the procedures he needed for the mission.  
  
   
  
"Really Keeper! We could blow this gin joint."  
  
   
  
"Hold this up to the scanner. Make sure it's held dead-on, or it won't be read." She informed him holding the ersatz eyeball up to demonstrate.  
  
   
  
"This Agency is a two-bit, halfway house, Mickey Mouse government backwater embarrassment with a has-been fat cat mindless bureaucrat in charge. A woman like you, I could cover you in diamonds, pearls and furs. And maybe nothing else," he leered suggestively "except me."  
  
   
  
"Oh really? How's that?" she asked him, with some disdain for his proposal.  
  
   
  
"Oh come on! Don't tell me you never thought about it. With your knowledge of this big time biometric crap and of Counteragent formulation, coupled with my many obvious abilities—together we could take the world—literally."  
  
   
  
"I suppose it would never occur to your criminal mind that that would be immoral."  
  
   
  
"Hey, I always say, every man—and woman—for him or herself. Think about it."  
  
   
  
"I've already thought about it," she arched an eyebrow.  
  
   
  
"Ah, you see? Bet you've thought about it a lot."  
  
   
  
"Yes, I have. I've thought about it ever since you made the ludicrous suggestion a few moments ago. I have given it all the thought it merits."  
  
   
  
"You cut me deeply." he said with mock indignation, his hand on his heart.  
  
   
  
"I think I'll just stay here and work for this two-bit, halfway house, Mickey Mouse government backwater embarrassment with a has-been fat cat mindless bureaucrat in charge. I'd prefer that to jail, thank you." She said aristocratically.  
  
   
  
"You can't tell me you're not a little bit tempted?" he said rakishly, pulling her close to him.  
  
   
  
"Not even a little. Now, Darien, please let me go of me, or I'll have to call Agent Hobbes."  
  
   
  
"Fine." He sulked and stepped back for the remainder of the briefing.  
  
   
  
"This glove will provide the fingerprints…."  
  
   
  
 ======================  
  
See, at this point I was wondering if this Keeper babe was made of stone. I just offered her the world, and me in the bargain and she turned down the whole package in nothing flat.   
  
   
  
Maybe she's a lesbian. Because if she is, I can work around that.  
  
   
  
 ======================  
  
   
  
Lab 409  
  
   
  
At the high tech door in the 27th floor of Poindexter Tower One, Fawkes unconsciously held his breath in that eternal moment before the door finally clicked open.  
  
   
  
In he went. He should really tell Hobbes what was going on.  
  
   
  
Nah.  
  
   
  
The claustrophobic walkway led through a series of doors. Fawkes had to reach Room 409. He pulled out another device; this one would reveal the code to open the door. A few moments, the lock showed a green LCD and he was inside. He disabled the cameras and allowed the Quicksilver to flake away. It had been 20 minutes for him under the influence and he would need every second to make his get away.  
  
   
  
"Fawkes! Dammit! Report. Follow procedure."  
  
   
  
Something snapped in Fawkes' brain. He would get Hobbes off his back and get him good in the deal. The original prankster had a plan. He pulled out a forgotten coffee receipt from his pocket and crumpled it into the mic piece.   
  
   
  
"Ahhh! Hobbes! They got me. I've been hit. Everything's getting black. It's all over for me! Save yourself!" he said with mock fear as the sounds of the crinkled paper sent false static into Hobbes' equipment.  
  
   
  
He pulled the device off and smashed it with his heel, effectively cutting off his lifeline.   
  
   
  
Had he thought for a moment and said "I'm inside. You won't believe this."  Hobbes would not have pulled his next stunt but that is a tale from a parallel universe and we're in the real world here.  
  
   
  
Fawkes stood dumbfounded as he stared into the room. Ten people were lying on tables. Their bodies were swathed with myriad wires and tubes and hooked into machines at the foot of their beds. Each machine was ultimately tied into a central machine that beeped casually, its flashing lights, indicators and screens monitored and controlled the life functions of the group.  
  
   
  
Fawkes stared until the guards trampled in like the Mongol hordes and apprehended him.  
  
   
  
=====================   
  
Smash and Grab  
  
   
  
Hobbes was spitting mad as he called for emergency back up and sprang into action. He ran from the van armed to the teeth and covered with repelling equipment. He cursed Fawkes' stupidity as he went.  
  
   
  
This was exactly what he had feared and expected from Fawkes; the kid's own stupidity would get him caught and probably killed. It would be the death of both of them.  
  
   
  
The hulking colossus of the Poindexter Towers Complex was so gargantuan, that a system of window washing machines operated at all times. The machines crept up and down the mile high monstrosities like preening spiders. Hobbes used his knowledge of the grounds and systems of the buildings that he had acquired from studying the mission briefing. He quickly found the control box for the cleaning system under a utility plate and brought down a unit. It remained at the bottom long enough for him to hop a ride.  
  
   
  
Click. Click. Click.   
  
   
  
He was counting each floor to make sure he would find the Twenty-Seventh.  
  
   
  
Click. Click. Click.  
  
   
  
He did not bother to look down; he was focused on what he was about to do and fearing for his own personal safety was the furthest thing from his mind. He had to rescue that stupid kid and get them both out of here safely. It was a hare-brained, last resort, lunatic scheme at best, but if there was even a chance in a billion, Hobbes was going to take it.  
  
   
  
Click. Click. Click.   
  
   
  
The wind was strong as it whistled through his ears, making him cling to the washer apparatus. He was aware of an expanse of urban sprawl that seemed to unfurl to the horizon, the little lights looking like a sea of stars.  
  
   
  
Click. Click. Click. Up he went.  
  
   
  
When he arrived at his destination, he spilled a few hundred machine gun rounds into the window. Glass spattered in all directions and the entire building went on red alert as alarms and claxons sounded and every light in the complex went to full emergency mode.  
  
   
  
Hobbes could hear shouting as he leapt at the last possible moment into the gaping wound he had carved into the tower's side. He deftly tumbled into a lab and bolted out of the room, looking for room 409.  
  
   
  
Maybe instead of saving the kid, he would ring his scrawny neck for him. It was this thought that consoled him as the large, well-armed, well-trained guard force over took him.  
  
   
  
=================  
  
Falcon Breeding  
  
   
  
Hobbes sat in a conference room trying to make conversation with the guards.  
  
   
  
"You guys have a latte machine in here?"  
  
   
  
No response. The gorillas just stood there, looking straight ahead, as if they were Terminators.  
  
   
  
"I can't be broken, you know. Bobby Hobbes has never cracked under pressure yet, my friends. Believe me, many have tried."  
  
   
  
Silence.  
  
   
  
"So, Hudgecodyne have a good retirement plan? They pay you well?"  
  
   
  
The double door opened silently and an entourage entered, Fawkes bound and in tow, like a rodeo calf. They led him to a chair near Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"Hey. Hey! Fawkes! You're alive! That's good, because I wanted to kill you myself."  
  
   
  
"What the hell are you doing here Hobbes? Dammit! I had it under control. Then you busted in and now we're both in hot water."  
  
   
  
"You signaled a May Day. You said they'd gotten you! Procedure dictates…"  
  
   
  
"Procedure? You call this 'procedure'? Let me tell you something…"  
  
   
  
"You can't tell me nothing, kid! I've had just about enough of you. Marines don't leave their own behind. Not even you!"  
  
   
  
"I'm not a Marine."  
  
   
  
"Nobody's perfect!""  
  
   
  
The two continued bickering until an officious executive strolled into the room, dictating orders to his minions as he went.  
  
   
  
"Well, well, what do have we here? Cat burglars?"  
  
   
  
"'Cat bunglers' is more like it," said his slicker, more corporate version of Eberts. "I've checked their ID's. They're Federal Agents and get this, they're from the Department of Fish and Game. They must be Chuck Borden's little boys."  
  
   
  
The executive started to laugh and so did the formerly stoic guards.  
  
   
  
"Why, isn't that cute!" he laughed. "This gets better and better. Ah. Give me a moment. Ahhh.  
  
   
  
"Sam, can I have a glass of water, please?" He continued to laugh, trying to compose himself.  
  
   
  
"My name is Thomas Hillingard Reybleu. I'm in charge of this division. How may I be of assistance to you gentleman?" he asked casually as if the pair were making a routine sales call. "Since you broke me away from a very important conference call to Japan, I assume that there is something on your minds."  
  
   
  
"Hobbes. Robert A. Federal Agent. Badge number 2638942 stroke A7."  
  
   
  
"Oh god! Here we go." breathed Fawkes as he shook his head.  
  
   
  
"Relax, Agent Hobbes. You are among friends. I was merely curious. Why have you both broken into our humble building? Was there something you were after? Anything in particular? We have a very nice Peregrine Falcon set up upstairs. Seventeen fledglings this year so far. Would you care to see it?"  
  
   
  
"You know, I'm curious myself." Fawkes started. "Why have you got all those people in room 409 hooked up to machines? I was just wondering—what's that all about?"  
  
   
  
"Shut up, Fawkes! You don't have to talk to him."   
  
   
  
"Would YOU just shut up, for once?" he barked at Hobbes and then turned back to Reybleu.  "I just wanted to know."  
  
   
  
"Well, not that it's really any of your business, Agent…  
  
   
  
"Fawkes. Darien. Badge number…ah…  
  
   
  
Hobbes rolled his eyes and looked disgusted as a gorilla handed Fawkes his badge folder.  
  
   
  
"Yeah, here it is. Badge number 3045…"  
  
   
  
"You don't know your own frickkin' badge number?" Hobbes commented under the wire. "What's wrong wit choo?"  
  
   
  
"Never mind about that." Reybleu waved Fawkes off. "As I was saying, those subjects are part of an experiment, for which they are being fairly compensated. I cannot disclose the nature of the experiment, but I can say they are all willing participants. Anything else you want to share?"  
  
   
  
The pair sat silently instinctively knowing the cat was playing with them before he pounced.  
  
   
  
"Very well. Since you have broken a window like Little League brats or errant golfers and since I don't feel like making this a public affair, I'm going to take matters into my own hands. I cannot allow this breach of etiquette to go unpunished. You know, most people have to wait up to a year just to see me?" he scolded.  
  
   
  
"You broke a window?" Fawkes asked. "Again?"  
  
   
  
"On this level, no less." Reybleu stated with bemused glee. "The window washing system will be secured immediately. Thanks, Agent Hobbes for pointing out that minor flaw in our otherwise perfect fortification."  
  
   
  
"How did you do that?" Fawkes asked with incredulity. "Why did you do that? Are you out of your mind?"   
  
   
  
"Well, yes, as you are so fond of pointing out, I am a mental patient."  
  
   
  
"So, a big church ceremony for you two or are you planning to elope?" Reybleu quipped.  
  
   
  
The partners frowned in unison at Reybleu.  
  
   
  
"Actually, gentlemen, it's refreshing. We in business and science tend to hide our emotions behind a veneer of professionalism, but the two of you have no problems expressing just what you think of one another. You genuinely hate each other. That's superb. I can use that. In fact, for what I have planned, it's perfect.  
  
   
  
"Sam. I'd like to send CB a practical joke. What d'ya say?"  
  
   
  
"Yes sir!" Sam said with great enthusiasm.  
  
   
  
======================   
  
   
  
Lab 659  
  
   
  
The pair were taken to room 659 and strapped into a double table.  
  
   
  
"We're Federal Agents!" Hobbes yelled at them. "USDA. If you mess with us, you're gonna be in a world of hurt."  
  
   
  
"Hobbes, this is Hudgecodyne we're talking about here. They can buy and sell the government."  
  
   
  
The wires they were attaching to Hobbes and Fawkes were every bit as impressive as the ones that were attached to the test subjects in room 409.  
  
 ===================  
  
   
  
Oh yeah. This is how I want to spend my evening—strapped down on a table next to Bobby Hobbes.   
  
   
  
He's hyper like a pent up Chihuahua. I'm guessing he's in his manic phase. Lucky me.  
  
   
  
I think I've had more than my share of mad scientists working on me, don't you? But, after you've been "Glanded", what's the worst thing they could possibly do to you, see what I'm saying? I was oddly, not worried.   
  
================  
  
   
  
"Look, people, can we have a dialogue about this? My hairy friend here has some special medical problems you should know about. You could seriously kill him."  
  
   
  
"Hobbes, don't call me your friend."  
  
   
  
"There's going to be hell to pay. We're connected to people in high places, up to and including the President of these United States, our great nation."  
  
   
  
"Please kill me! PLEASE!" Fawkes pleaded with the attendants. "I can't take Hobbes any more!" They ignored him and continued their work.  
  
   
  
"Hobbes, if you had stayed in your stupid crappy van with your little toys, we'd be home by now. Instead, you have to reenact the charge of the Light-Headed Brigade and now we're in this mess."  
  
   
  
Hobbes stopped for a moment, furrowing his brow.  
  
   
  
"You just don't get it, do ya Fawkesy?"  
  
   
  
"Oh, and just what is it that I'm supposed to get, here, Hobbesy? You wanna tell me that?"  
  
   
  
"You wouldn't understand."  
  
   
  
"You're probably right. I'm just too stupid." Fawkes said with rancorous sarcasm  
  
   
  
"Now you're talkin'." Hobbes said reasonably.   
  
   
  
"No. What is it I couldn't 'get'? This should be good."  
  
   
  
"Let me tell you something my friend…"  
  
   
  
"Not again."  
  
   
  
"You don't know the first thing about loyalty, dedication, honor and duty. You just never had that in your life, did you? Ever."  
  
   
  
That was out of left field. What was Hobbes babbling about this time? But, his comment gave Fawkes pause.  
  
   
  
"Huh? That's it, isn't it. You just don't know what it looks like for someone to try to save your worthless life. Huh? I knew it."  
  
   
  
"Shut up Hobbes." Fawkes said, but something was bothering him. Really, it was his fault that Hobbes had charged into this place.  
  
   
  
"Ok. I'll shut up." Hobbes said in a mocking cutesy voice.  
  
   
  
"Hobbes."  
  
   
  
"Yo."  
  
   
  
"I…I'm sorry."  
  
   
  
"Sorry? For what?"  
  
   
  
"I…there was nothing wrong. I just didn't want to talk to you. I faked the 'May Day' and smashed the microphone; it was kind of a joke. I thought you knew it was phony. I didn't think you'd try to rescue me from this place."  
  
   
  
Hobbes stared at his partner. "You know Fawkes, you really are a piece of work."  
  
   
  
Everything was ready; the drip was begun. Masks were held over their faces and as the partners fell into a deep sleep they took their last waking moments to say:  
  
   
  
"Putz." garbled Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"Nutcase." slurred Fawkes.  
  
 ==============================  
  
SCUD Stud  
  
   
  
The bright morning light pieced through Fawkes window as he sprawled on his mattress and tossed and turned in the throws of the worst nightmare he had ever experienced. He was almost awake, and knew it was a dream but could not escape the images his brain was playing.  
  
   
  
He was caught in the heat of a mighty midnight battle and he felt insects crawling under his uniform, their bites burning into his flesh. SCUD missiles were exploding very near his location. He fired his machine gun into a multitude of faceless enemies with spindly limbs who trudged toward him. They blew up when he shot them, like figures in a computer game but instead of dying, every piece that fell from their exploded bodies rose up again and formed another soldier. Without flinching, they continued their never-ending march toward Fawkes' trench.  
  
   
  
Molten liquid pierced his shoulder as the enemy returned fire. The agony took him to a place beyond pain, beyond fear, where he felt he was in Hell. Next to him he became aware of a figure—some one who was a very good friend. The young man was not moving as if he were a mere toy soldier that had been posed. His glassy eyes stared over his weapon and he seemed to float away to heaven. Fawkes looked on as bullets pierced what was left of the boy's body.  
  
   
  
"Snap out of it Joey!" he screamed at his friend. "You're a Marine, Joey! A Marine!"  
  
   
  
He reached over and realized that poor Joey was covered in thick, warm blood that had a life of its own, oozing and moving as if his body had already been attacked by maggots. The closer Darien got to the body, the more the blood wriggled around. Now he was holding the prone figure of his dear friend, and weeping from the pit of his soul.  
  
   
  
"Hoo Yah, Joey." He said shakily through his tears. Then strongly he shouted "HOOO-YAAAH! This one's for you, kid! I'm gonna kill every last one of 'em. For you, Joey!"  
  
   
  
He began spilling his own liquid death in the direction of the relentless enemy and he laughed with hellish gratification as he watched the troops fall under the fiery rain that spewed out as his weapon fired.  
  
   
  
Darien awoke with a start from the horrible, foreign dream and the previous night's escapade flooded back into his head like a slap in the face. The last thing he remembered was being caught and sitting in a conference room with Hobbes but it was all a blur as he still felt the nightmare's talons grasp for him from out of the depths of his altered consciousness.   
  
   
  
How did he get to his apartment? He recalled a conference room and an executive. He remembered being strapped down with Hobbes and passing out from the anesthesia.  
  
   
  
He felt guilty as if there was something horrible he had done but could not remember what it was. Only the shame was left.  
  
   
  
His watch told him it was 9:45AM. Great! Late again. Oh well. It was not as if he wasn't used to getting chewed out for over-sleeping. He thought he must have needed a shot but could not remember how long he had been invisible last night.  
  
   
  
On impulse, he went to the bath room and thoroughly washed his hands; they felt grainy and dirty; maybe there was still blood there from that dream. He meticulously checked each nail and washed once again, just to make sure that the air had not contaminated his hands after the wash of only a few moments ago.  
  
   
  
When he returned, he noticed the disheveled bed and set about making it with military precision so that a quarter could bounce off the tight sheets. Finally he was satisfied with that, his hands felt dirty again and he returned to the bathroom. He washed a few more times and planned to shower but something about the medicine cabinet made him peer into it.  
  
   
  
To his horror he noticed that a lot of the items were out of date. Fastidiously he began to examine every item, throwing away anything questionable. Aspirin. Out of Date. Pepto Bismal. History. An old prescription. Archeology. He left the cabinet in ship shape order, a place for everything and everything in its place.  
  
   
  
He washed his hands a few more times and then noticed that the floor of the bathroom was covered in dust and hair. This disturbed him greatly and he felt tears well up in his eyes as he slumped down and sat against the bath tub.  
  
   
  
"What's the use?" he said to himself. "This is what my life is, a big dirty toilet."  
  
   
  
He wept bitterly for awhile, without a reason. He just wanted to die, to end it all. It would be best for all concerned. No one would have to worry about Darien Fawkes, ever again. He would have devoured the out of date medication but he had already placed it into a tidy trash bag and taken it to a dumpster.   
  
   
  
He cried until finally he made himself get up and clean the bathroom from top to bottom, even washing down the walls. The toilet was spotless and the bathtub and shower sparkled. His tears seemed to wash away with his household ablutions and he started on the rest of the apartment.   
  
   
  
Everything needed to be cleaned. Right here, right now first I'll start with the kitchen and what is my phone light doing flashing at me that's really annoying I'll have to check that and I've got to fix those magazines better yet I'll throw them away. He was jittering from head to toe as he wiped down counters, washed his floors, vacuumed under every piece of furniture, scrubbed the sink, toothbrush cleaned his coffee maker, threw out old food, Cloroxed his refrigerator, twice.  
  
   
  
His phone had been set to silent and when Darien finally checked it, his hand shaking like a leaf, he listened to several calls from The Keeper, each one becoming more pleading and worried.  
  
   
  
He hit the auto-dial function and was talking to his Keeper.  
  
   
  
"There's something wrong, Keeper. Something's really wrong with me. Please help me." he cried until she got there with a team. He would not let them into his apartment because he did not recognize them. He only let the Keeper in, and insisted she wipe her feet repeatedly before she did.  
  
   
  
"I don't trust those guys, Keeper. I'll come out."  
  
   
  
Finally, they were able to escort him to the Keep where he found his partner in a similar state of despair.  
  
----------------  
  
   
  
A Little Light Shoplifting, Before Lunch  
  
   
  
The Official, Eberts and a distressed Hobbes were in the Keep, with Hobbes making his way it to the chair unsteadily. As Fawkes and the Keeper entered, Hobbes doubled over, clutching the back of his head. Eberts tried to help him.  
  
   
  
"Report, Doctor." The Official ordered.  
  
   
  
"Darien is exhibiting signs of Paranoid/Delusions, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, severe Manic/Depression and even Post-Traumatic Stress," she told him.  
  
   
  
Fawkes wept and balled up in the corner. Hobbes managed to get up on the chair and lay back.  
  
   
  
"I see." said the Official. "It appears that Hobbes is suffering from headaches, the type of headaches that Fawkes gets when he needs Counteragent. There have been some other problems. Hobbes?"  
  
   
  
"I can't explain it, Doctor." Hobbes said. "This morning, I woke up and went to a couple of stores, a supermarket and a drugstore. Everything I got is over there, in a box. It'll have to be returned, but for crissake! I spent the morning shoplifting.  
  
   
  
"I picked 7 pockets and then I cased a bank and a convenience store. Some how I stopped myself from trying anything, but I had my gun with me and I coulda knocked over the store. I'm really not myself."  
  
   
  
"Oh my! You've been as busy as Darien has."  
  
   
  
"It sounds like they are victims of Dr. Selzman's process." offered Eberts.  
  
   
  
"I'm not familiar with the work of Dr. Selzman, Eberts." The Keeper said. "Can you get me that information?"  
  
   
  
"Ah, well, no actually," he said sheepishly, "it's from a 1960's TV show, called 'The Prisoner'."   
  
   
  
Everyone stared at Eberts.  
  
   
  
"Thanks Eeee-berts" said Fawkes in that particular way Hobbes said his name. "But that's not really helpful, is it Eeee-berts?"  
  
   
  
"No, wait a minute!" said The Keeper. "It's actually appropriate. I know what he's talking about."  
  
   
  
Now The Keeper garnered the stares while Eberts looked pleased with himself.  
  
   
  
"Doctor, would you mind explaining you reasoning, or have you gone insane as well?" The Official huffed.  
  
   
  
"It was a British programme, Sir." She said by way of explanation. "You see, Doctor Selzman had perfected a thought transference device. He was able to exchange the essence, the soul if you will, of one person into another person, a perfect switch."  
  
   
  
"Actually, there was a Star Trek episode like that as well, where Kirk and a woman switched places." Hobbes said and then realized something. "I've never seen an episode of Star Trek. How did I know about that?"  
  
   
  
"You haven't but Darien has, no doubt."  
  
   
  
"It was my brother's favorite show." Fawkes told them. "He memorized the lines."  
  
   
  
"What are you saying here, Keeper?" asked Hobbes in a Fawkes-like manner. "Are you saying 'I'm now gonna to put the brain of this rabbit into the body of this chicken?' kind of thing?"  
  
   
  
"I must have missed that one." The Keeper said dryly.  
  
   
  
"Looney Toons." offered Hobbes and they gazed at him. "I've seen a lot of Looney Tunes."  
  
   
  
"I bet you have!" said Fawkes as himself. "Are you saying that he's me and I'm him?" he asked as he stood up and approached the group. "Because, that can not be good."  
  
   
  
"Mmm. That doesn't really seem to be the case, does it?" The Keeper stated thoughtfully. "I mean, it's not a complete transference, is it? You just seem to have developed many of each other's traits, characteristics and even memories. Since you are not being treated for conditions, such as manic/depression, the symptoms are quite pronounced."  
  
   
  
"I expect the obvious question is, what happened to you on last night's mission?" Eberts asked. "When the back up team arrived, you were nowhere to be found and all was well at the scene."   
  
   
  
"Wait a minute." Fawkes was recalling. "I…Hobbes busted a window on the twenty-seventh floor. Every alarm west of Kentucky went off."  
  
   
  
"I can only convey what was in the report. There was no sign of any disturbance."  
  
   
  
"Were we even really in that building?" asked Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"Oh, we were there, all right." replied Fawkes.  
  
   
  
"Now the only question is, which one of you gets docked for smashing the window?" said the Official.  
  
   
  
Hobbes and Fawkes looked at each other and simultaneously said, "He does."  
  
--------------  
  
   
  
Tommy Hilfiger?  
  
   
  
   
  
The Official sighed. "Evidently, the more things change…"  
  
   
  
"…the more they remain the same." The Keeper finished.  
  
   
  
"Yes. Doctor, I will allow you a brief time to study the two of them but we need to find a solution as soon as possible. This anomaly could seriously impinge on the health of the Gland."  
  
   
  
"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Hobbes cracked. "I'm sorry Sir." he said sincerely.  
  
   
  
"I remembered something." Fawkes said, looking up from his gloom. "We were in a conference room. I knew that this morning. We were talking to a guy named Timothy Hillfinger, or Hillinger or."  
  
   
  
"Haranger?" Hobbes offered.  
  
   
  
"Tommy Hilangrand?" Fawkes grasped for the name.  
  
   
  
"Hildegard?"  
  
   
  
"Could you possibly be referring to Thomas Hillingard Reybleu?" The Official asked with great import, his back going stock straight.  
  
   
  
"Yeah! That's the guy!" exclaimed Fawkes. "Said he was some big wig over at Hudgecodyne."  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen, it is as I have feared."  
  
   
  
"What?" Hobbes gasped. "What is it? Do you know him?"  
  
   
  
"Oh dear! This is worse than I had feared. In fact, this is the worst thing that could have happened to you." The Official said with great conviction.  
  
   
  
"Sir?" Fawkes asked.  
  
   
  
"Yes, I know this man and he is a snake swathed only in a thin varnish of a human disguise. You would only have to scratch the surface to see his scales."  
  
   
  
"I guess you do know him then. There was something oily about the guy." Fawkes said.  
  
   
  
"I didn't trust him." Hobbes chimed in.  
  
   
  
"He laughed at us."  
  
   
  
"Yeah, I didn't like that."  
  
   
  
"He seemed to know you."   
  
   
  
"Oh yes, gentlemen. Mr. Reybleu has been my arch rival for many years. If only I had destroyed him in his larval phase, when he was weak, but how was I to know he would turn out to be the next Dr. Josef Mengele?"  
  
   
  
"I don't understand, Sir." said Fawkes. "He's leading a eugenics quest?"  
  
   
  
"Worse. It is unthinkable what we think he has been up to. He was the reason you were sent in there in the first place. We had to find out what he is doing on the 27th Floor."  
  
   
  
"Oh, now you tell us." Hobbes said and then quickly apologized again.  
  
   
  
"Gentlemen, there may be no way to reverse your mutual condition, but we will do everything in our power to try, won't we, Doctor?" the Official said with grave tones.   
  
   
  
The Keeper nodded with worry. The partners were shaking in their boots. This information seemed to make the whole unbearable situation even worst. Fawkes began to cry again.  
  
   
  
"In fact, I am afraid…" The Official stated.  
  
   
  
"Yes?"  
  
   
  
"It's dire."  
  
   
  
"What?"  
  
   
  
"I don't know if you should hear this." He was going to draw this out as long as possible.  
  
   
  
"Hear what?  
  
   
  
"Sir, I think we should know."  
  
   
  
"I don't want you to give up hope." He allowed that to sink in. "This condition…well it could be…"  
  
   
  
"Sir, please tell us!" Hobbes insisted.  
  
   
  
"Well, it could be….terminal."  
  
   
  
"Terminal?" the partners asked together.  
  
   
  
"Yes. That is my fear, but it is only an unfounded fear until the Doctor has a chance to run tests."  
  
   
  
"What if there is no time for tests? What if by the time her tests are finished, we're both on an autopsy table." Fawkes bleated.  
  
   
  
"Don't' worry. Your bodies will be able to provide us with important evidence in building as case against Reybleu and I have your next of kin information in your files."  
  
   
  
"Well, what are standing around jawing for? Let's get started on these tests." insisted Hobbes.  
  
 ----------------------  
  
   
  
Chang and Eng  
  
   
  
Fawkes was given his shot of Counteragent, which actually seemed to quell Hobbes' symptoms.   
  
   
  
"The two of you are connected like an emotional and psychological version of conjoined twins. You are still individuals, yet you share an uncanny bond to each other's histories." The Keeper observed  
  
   
  
"Chang and Eng." Hobbes said idly as he took his pills. "Fawkes must have been reading about the original Siamese Twins."  
  
   
  
"Great. Now I'm a double freak." Fawkes sobbed. "The circus wouldn't even want me."  
  
   
  
"Do I have to listen to this crap any more, Keeper? He's too much like me."  
  
   
  
"Agent Hobbes, I suggest you go to an empty room and try to sleep." she told him. "I believe room 302 is open."  
  
   
  
"Can do." He went off, in search of the rest his body desperately craved.  
  
   
  
Hobbes fell asleep while The Keeper continued to work with Fawkes. He stepped into a darkened room and knew he was trapped, no hope of escape or comfort. An angry sting ripped at his back, the lacerations inflamed where he had been sliced repeatedly. Bruises covered his face, causing one eye to swell shut. He was left alone with only darkness, dirt and pain.   
  
   
  
The room closed in, encasing him in fluid concrete and vicious piano wire. Agony robbed him of breath and he gasped as he emerged into a sea of sand. Caustic grains blew harshly in every direction while at the same time he was still in the inescapable torture chamber.  
  
   
  
The room had changed and he sensed that some one else was with him, a menacing man shouting something in a language he did not understand. He felt a heavy object smash his ribs and felt his leg give way with a sickening snap. His torturer knew how to beat him enough to cause great pain, but stopped short of sending him to blessed unconsciousness.   
  
   
  
He was calm once again and he felt some one close to him nearby, some one who loved him—some one who was holding a very large, very ugly knife to Hobbes' skull. He felt each cut and incision, heard the sounds of suctions and the steady beep of a heart rate monitor and felt blood pumping around his body.  The doctors were laughing and chatting in the OR as they sawed into his cranium. One had a hot date that evening and wanted to finish as soon as possible. Another said he had a wooly mammoth on the phone and he was looking for a spare kidney or two.  
  
   
  
He felt another presence, a dark man with a twisted soul. He wore a thin veil but it failed to hide his real identity: Arnaud der Föhn. He loomed in the background and had strings that he was using to manipulate Kevin. Kevin would laugh, cry, dance and cut flesh at his whim and Arnaud laughed with wicked delight. When Kevin died, his body riddled with bullets, Arnaud laughed even harder. Hobbes tried to pick up the broken pieces that were the remains of Kevin's body. Arnaud taunted that him. "He couldn't put Humpty together again."  
  
   
  
Then Hobbes felt himself slip away into invisibility. He was no longer there or anywhere. He was shouting at the people in the room as they laughed and joked, but no one could hear him. He was a prisoner again, only this time it was a prison of great fear that he would never be able to have contact with any one ever again, not even a torturer for company. He could only watch the world from this ultimate, eternal personal exile.  
  
   
  
Hobbes awoke screaming so loud that his room was rushed by a team of Agency personnel. The Keeper had the wisdom to shoo out the audience, leaving only her there to give the partners a semi-private but guided moment  
  
   
  
"Hobbes!" Fawkes called as he lunged for his partner, grasping his hands as if to pull him back from the edge of a precipice. "Was it the war? I had a nightmare about the war."  
  
   
  
"No! And yes." Hobbes managed to sob out. Unsteadily he felt he needed to talk about the dream, as if talk could relive the fear and trembling in his body. "It started out in solitary, after I'd been beaten."  
  
   
  
Fawkes gasped. "I remember that. That was me, Hobbes. That happened to me." Fawkes had been shaking as well and he tasted some blood from where he had bitten his lip. "The bastards who did it to me should have been the ones in prison." he burst out bitterly.  
  
   
  
"Then I was being tortured in the desert. I'm pretty sure that was me." Hobbes started to take deep breathes and felt the drenching sweat start to cool him. "Then, an operation. We both know who belongs to that one."  
  
   
  
The partners found each other still clutching one another's hands. The Keeper watched from the shadows just to make sure they were all right.  
  
   
  
"First it's your memories and then mine." Hobbes voice was shaking with his whole body.  
  
   
  
"I know. I know. It's all mixed up!"  
  
   
  
"You'd think we'd have a happy memory between us there, partner."  
  
   
  
"Yeah." Fawkes sighed out and gave a weak, wry laugh.  
  
   
  
"Your shared memories do seem to run the gamut, everything from severe trauma to cartoons and television programmes. But the nightmares are related to traumatic stress incidents—things that occurred in your lives that have caused the most emotional impact. Perhaps I can give you a dream suppressant for a short period of time."  
  
   
  
"Keeper, could you give us a moment alone?" Fawkes pleaded.  
  
   
  
"I…uh…I've got to get you both some sedatives. I'll be right here if you need me."  
  
   
  
"Thanks."  
  
   
  
When she quietly clicked the door shut, Fawkes began.  
  
   
  
"Joey!"  
  
   
  
"Yeah. Mine." Hobbes was dripping tears.  
  
   
  
Fawkes breathed heavily, trying to figure out what to say.  
  
   
  
"I remember the war," he blurted.   
  
   
  
"No one ever forgets the war." Hobbes said bitterly.  
  
   
  
"I saw Joey di…." he couldn't finish, couldn't say it. "Hobbes, I'm so sorry about Joey."  
  
   
  
"He was a good friend." Hobbes choked up. "A great guy. Just a kid. We were really close. He had two little babies at home and a beautiful wife."  
  
   
  
"But that wasn't the worst of it."  
  
   
  
"No, not by a long shot. Joey died for me. Stood right in front of me during an attack. Threw me down. I couldn't stop him.  
  
   
  
"You know, I must have mowed down 80 of their guys that day but it didn't help. It made me feel worst and it didn't bring Joey back.  
  
   
  
"Fawkes, it should have been me out there on that field. It should have been me."  
  
   
  
"No!"  
  
   
  
"It's the truth!"  
  
   
  
"No! Joey's death should mean something. You were meant to live for a reason."  
  
   
  
They finally unclenched their hands and Darien sat weakly on the bottom of Hobbes' bed. Hobbes lay back, exhausted from the nightmares and the bout with intense emotions.  
  
   
  
"What have I got to live for, Fawkes? Unless my purpose in life is to kick your scrawny ass on a daily basis and after this, I'm out of the spy biz."   
  
   
  
"Maybe." Darien said quietly.  
  
   
  
"And, anyway, it doesn't matter. This switch-a-roo thing might kill us both."  
  
   
  
"Yeah, Hobbes about that…"  
  
   
  
Eberts entered the room with The Keeper and said simply, "The Official would like to see you both."  
  
   
  
 -------------------  
  
Old Age and Treachery  
  
   
  
The Keeper entered The Official's office, her eyes reddened and her lab coat looking disheveled. Eberts stood behind the desk, handing the Official papers from time to time.  
  
   
  
"Sir, I have…"she sobbed, "terrible news."  
  
   
  
The Official barely looked up from his paper work.  
  
   
  
"Oh really, Doctor? What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"  
  
   
  
"It's Fawkes and Hobbes. It happened so quickly. They're…both…dead, Sir."  
  
   
  
"Oh yes, of course. Eberts, where is the 739-J form? Oh, I see it."  
  
   
  
"I must have been a result of the switch process. There was nothing I could have done about it."  
  
   
  
"I don't place the blame on you Doctor. I fully knew that the two of them would get themselves killed through non-cooperation. I trust the Gland has been harvested and prep'ed for the next receptacle."  
  
   
  
"I…uh…of course." She stammered, taken aback by his apparently heartless response.  
  
   
  
"There, there, Doctor. I know how it is. One minute the partners are skipping along in a field of buttercups, tossing rose petals and playing their little games."  
  
   
  
"Yes, I…what?"  
  
   
  
"We'll always remember them for all the joys they brought to our lives."  
  
   
  
"Sir. I don't understand. I've just told you that two of your agents are dead and you…you don't seem at all concerned."  
  
   
  
He sighed and finally said, "Olly Olly Oxemfree. Fawkes, you can come out now."  
  
   
  
Fawkes shed his Quicksilver and sat down with his usual arrogance.  
  
   
  
The Official signaled to Eberts who went to the door, opening it abruptly. Hobbes tumbled into the room.  
  
   
  
"Listening at the door again." The Official observed. "Nasty habit you've got."  
  
   
  
Hobbes contritely dusted himself off and sat next to Fawkes. Eberts looked bemused at the guilty trio. The Official gave a wry look at the three conspirators.  
  
   
  
"You kids are cute." The Official told them. "There's an old saying that goes, 'Old age and treachery will always win out over youth and skill.'"  
  
   
  
"Should have 'destroyed him in his larval phase'?" Fawkes threw out. "'The next Dr. Josef Mengele?'"  
  
   
  
"'It is unthinkable what we think he has been up to.'" The Keeper chimed in.  
  
   
  
"'Notify our next of kin'." Hobbes repeated.  
  
   
  
"Good, huh? I thought the 'next of kin' comment was a stroke of genius."  
  
   
  
"Yeah, brilliant." Hobbes cracked and then sighed. He was tired of apologizing for being like Fawkes.  
  
   
  
"Sir, we still have a problem. Have you any insights on just where I should be directing my studies?" The Keeper asked.  
  
   
  
"Why don't you just cut the crap, and tell us what's really going on." Hobbes said and then rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Fawkes, maybe you'd better do the talking."  
  
   
  
"Now there's a real switch." Fawkes said. "Yes, sir. Do tell us. You know something that we don't know?"  
  
   
  
"Always", he said with a sardonic grin. "But you mean about your situation."  
  
   
  
He sniffed and then proceeded, "Reybleu is indeed an old enemy of mine and you were sent to Hudgecodyne to investigate his operation. I had hoped—no, I knew that with your lack of cooperation, together you would manage to bungle the job and get caught."  
  
   
  
The partners looked dumbfounded by this admission. They started to argue.  
  
   
  
"I wasn't gonna mess it up. I followed procedures." stated Fawkes as Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"If he wasn't so damn impossible to work with…" argued Hobbes as Fawkes.  
  
   
  
When the both realized what they were doing, they stopped.  
  
   
  
"I also know Reybleu like the back of my own file system. This is his idea of a practical joke, aimed at yours truly. I actually think it's a good one. A real knee-slapper."  
  
   
  
"Oh for the love of…" Hobbes sighed.  
  
   
  
"Our sources told us that he is attempting to perfect a mind transference process that would threaten world security. They would be able to place the minds they choose into bodies of world leaders and key figures. The result would be chaos. We had to find out what stage his work had attained.   
  
   
  
"The two of you will be able to help in that regard. The Doctor will study you to see just how long this transfer lasts. It will be one indicator of the status of his work."  
  
   
  
"What do you mean, how long it will last? Don't we have to go back through his process or something?" asked Fawkes.  
  
   
  
"No. The process reverses itself. So far they are not able to make the effect last for more than a week to ten days. Relief from the intense symptoms should begin sooner."  
  
   
  
"You took a tremendous risk in sending them into that." The Keeper observed.  
  
   
  
"Captain Kirk said that 'Risk is our business.'" Eberts chimed in.  
  
   
  
"Shut up, Eee-berts." Hobbes and Fawkes said in unison.  
  
   
  
"No! He's right," corrected The Official to Eberts abashed glee. "Risk IS our business. But, there are risks that make sense and those that do not. I can't risk having two agents out there who are behaving as you were. Something drastic had to be done. My hope is that through understanding one another, you can now have some common ground to build a good partnership."  
  
   
  
"So, you set everyone up, just to watch 'em fall." Hobbes accused.  
  
   
  
"Hobbes, for all your foibles, you're a good man and I don't want to lose you. Fawkes, it's obvious why you are here, but you need to grow up and leave your childish ways behind. I suspect you have a few more growth experiences in your near future. You've both got jobs to do and I believe that if you two can cut the bull, you will make a great team."  
  
   
  
"Do you have any idea what you have put us through?" asked Fawkes.  
  
   
  
"I do what is necessary." He told them seriously. "Besides" he began to chuckle, "it was worth the laugh."  
  
   
  
"Walk a mile in another man's shoes before you pass judgment." Fawkes said, idly.  
  
   
  
"Precisely. So, what do you say, gentlemen? Have you gained any insights through your ordeal?"  
  
   
  
The partner regarded one another for a moment.  
  
   
  
"Putz." said Fawkes to Hobbes.  
  
   
  
"Nutcase." said Hobbes to Fawkes.  
  
   
  
But something had changed in their eyes.  
  
------------  
  
   
  
Now, don't get thrown off by the little act we put on for The Official that day. Neither one of us wanted to give him the satisfaction that he had succeeded so well with his crazy scheme and with flying colors. But, here's the deal…now me and Hobbes were perfectly in tune. We both just "knew" it immediately and we could act like one.  
  
   
  
You may be wondering if Hobbesy and me ever became friends. Well, in a word, Yeah. In the coming weeks we would slowly, too slowly for me, become ourselves again, but I think we saw—no, experienced each other in a way that no one else could.  
  
   
  
We understood each other and though specific personal memories faded from our minds, we discovered we had a basis for an amazing friendship like neither one of us had ever had in our checkered lives.  
  
   
  
Do we still fight? Hell yeah, like cats and dogs some days. But, I'll always have a bit of Hobbes living in my head and heart, and the reverse is true for him. We're both better off for it. 


End file.
